Ceasefire
by cotederpablo
Summary: Ziva goes back to the place that holds her heart. She buries her father. And she realises that she has a lot to think about. Tag to 10x12 "Shiva".


Being in Israel was like being in a whole other world, to Ziva. And being home was a feeling she loved. America was her home of course, but nothing was the same when compared to the scorching sun that had bronzed her skin as a little girl. The sight of children running the streets barefoot shouting in Hebrew at each other. The bustling marketplaces that could never truly held one's trust. The beautiful synagogues. The busy streets. The olive trees. The music. Hearing her native language, so beautiful and intricate, all around her, and for a short while being able to forget the troubles of American colloquialisms and speak in the native tongue that she had been raised in. It came so easily to her, despite conversations in it being few and far between these days.

She so often longed for this place. Not its people – they were all too often unkind. But there was something about this country that made her want to rebel, if only for a moment. Throw caution to the wind and run barefoot through the desert plains like those children. She loved America and could never return here to stay but Israel would always own her heart and the blood in her veins.

Strange, how she only felt so free in a country so very crippled by conflict.

She did not run, and yet she barely stopped moving. She delivered her eulogy. It was short, because even in death there were not always nice things to say about Eli David. She had confined in Shmeil on the plane, conveying her apprehension. Words never seemed to agree with her when it was most crucial.

"I would not know what to say, Shmeil," she said softly. "Even when he was alive, I could not bring him peace. How do you suppose I do it now? It is impossible."

"Ziva, I may not have been your father's biggest fan, but he loved you. In his way," the old man replied, touching her forearm. "And despite his sins I am sure there is a part of you that loved him, too. If there wasn't, I do not think you would be on this plane."

"You do not think obligation alone would have dragged me back to Israel?" She wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Your obligations to your father never mattered before. You told me that yourself. You trusted the people at NCIS. What's changed?"

"He is gone," she answered, taking a deep breath. "And there is no longer an obligation for me to fulfill. Except burying him beside…beside my mother."

"It still does not matter what you say, Ziva. Half the people in the audience will show for less reason than you. Tell them a story. You will understand more than anyone how complicated a man your father was. Prove that he was indeed complicated. That he wasn't just bad. If you cannot do that, then I suppose he was not a complicated man after all. Make them believe there was good in his heart. I know you can do that, for there is so much good in yours."

She smiled and felt a lump in her throat, but forced it down. She would not cry again. It was time to let go.

…

She picked olive seeds for him. She was clad in all black and the afternoon beat down on her, but she picked them anyway. And at his grave she carefully touched the little plant. It seemed a meager representation of the life her father had lived, but it was a representation all the same. Besides, the olive branch symbolized peace, did it not? In death, surely a sign for peace would bring some good to his name.

Eli had sought peace in the final months of his life, perhaps because he was tired of the danger. People said perhaps his time as leader of Mossad would be up, for a decision like that was far-fetched at best. Yet Ziva liked to believe, she had to believe, that he was thinking forward. Too many people in this country were stuck in a rivalry that they did not see a way out of. Peace was not an option. And yet, somehow, for Eli, it was. He wanted to take the country he loved and shape it into a better place. The kind of place that she might bring her children to visit someday.

Ziva vowed, when this tree would be grown, that she would come back and say a prayer for her father and for peace. If a child was by her side that day, she would show them to kneel and to talk to God and she would try and tell that little, innocent child of the grandfather he might have been. And if she was alone that day, then, so be it. But she hoped from the bottom of her heart that she would not be.

The undersides of her fingernails were red with dust when she stood, as well as her legs and arms. But it was done. Eli had finally been put to rest. Hopefully, he would find peace here.

Ziva walked over to her mother's tree. It was close-by. It had been planted years ago and had grown into a magnificent specimen. She placed a hand on its trunk and felt the rough wood beneath her fingers.

"Hello, Ima," she whispered, and a breeze swept through the long branches and hanging leaves of the tree. Ziva smiled. "I know, I know, it has been too long. I am sure that, wherever you are, you are frowning at me for running off to America. You never did like it when I threatened to run away." She paused, becoming more solemn. "But they are good people. I do not feel as if I do not have any family left. I am sure you do not understand that but, believe me, I do."

Ziva could tell Rivka stories or pray but in the end, she had nothing more she wanted to say. Well, almost nothing. "Can you tell Tali I love her? And that I miss her every single day?" Another breeze blew past. It was almost as if Tali was there. "Tell her Tony played me _O Mio Babbino Caro_ recently. That it was beautiful, but not close to her rendition."

Ziva had learned from an early age not to count on her mother for much, emotionally, but she hoped that, wherever she was, Tali would know. Maybe she would know already. Even without her saying it today.

She believed people would find it pretty comical that someone who had killed as many people as she had could believe in such a thing as an afterlife. But she had to. Otherwise, after she had lost Tali, she would not have had anything to drive her further. Incentive and sheer competitiveness had been her drive before, when she was young and free of perspective. After losing her sister, believing that she was somewhere, watching with faith in her, kept her going, day after day.

Ziva said goodbye to her mother and crouched once more over Eli's grave. She traced Hebrew letters into the sand absent-mindedly.

"I will see you again, someday, Abba," she promised. "I hope there are children that I can introduce you to, then."

With that, she set off into the dusty afternoon, where a flight would be waiting for her shortly.

…

The flight home had been awfully unkind, and she had barely slept a wink. Unlike Shmeil, who had hardly woken up. She did not blame the old man; he had been there for her.

It was strange – the way she felt. Despite the week she had had, and despite the fact that closure had not come, she felt almost at peace. She had forgiven Eli as much as she could, and he could not cause anyone anymore pain. For some, that was almost a blessing.

But this feeling was strange, and sudden. But still most certainly welcome. The end of this story had not arrived yet – the person or people responsible had not been caught, and yet she felt overcome with relief. She no longer had to worry for her father or panic for what he might bring into her life next. She thought of her family at home – Gibbs, Abby, Tim, Ducky, Tony.

Tony.

As a friend he had been more than she could have asked for, and for the way she had treated him this past week, more than she deserved. And thinking of him – of all of them – she felt happy and she felt fortunate and that was more than she had felt since Eli had set foot in America.

She had David blood in her veins, and nothing would change that. Nothing would change that her mother, sister, brother and now father had all been laid to rest. But most importantly, nothing would change that no matter how few blood relatives still stood for her, she had a family. One that loved her, always. One that was there for her, always.

In times of death she had learned that a silver lining is always there, even if it takes a little time for the sun to shine bright enough for one to appear. And she had learned that blood was not important when she had love.

And as much as her heart belonged to the sun and the sands and the temples and the markets and the children of Israel, she felt something entirely different when the plane finally landed on the tarmac in Washington D.C. She felt _loved. _Like there would always be someone waiting for her. Someone to care, and someone to care _about. _Ziva's was a heart so full of love that she felt so fortunate to have people to give it to. A family. And she counted her blessings for it every single day.


End file.
